The drought continued late into the night
my sandals dusty in the peat and leaves
it was light, no more than six.
(late for us,the dog and me
an hours walk,then Hobsons Choice
a pint,within the statute limit)
Black lace stockings on the fence
reminding me of early days,
or should I say of nights
when nylons,too expensive
to discard so carelessly
were folded for another day.
Through the ginger bracken
the woodland more open now
the birches, lost their leaves
oaks orange red,acorns in their pipes.
today the same as yesterday
as will be tomorrow.
So beneath the gothic pines,
echoing modes and plainsong chants
black-hood crows,
compline eve and evening star
to light the stile......
lace stockings on the fence.